


The Killing of Inspector Pendragon

by i_amtheoutlaw



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: kinkme_merlin, Crime Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amtheoutlaw/pseuds/i_amtheoutlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkme_merlin prompt:</p>
<p>"Arthur/Merlin</p>
<p>Merlin writes crime fiction. He's quite famous for his "Inspector Pendragon" series, and is expected to churn out one book per year or so. Merlin has come to loathe his posh, noble, arrogant, insecure and devilishly handsome main character, especially as everyone else loves the prat.</p>
<p>And then, through some magic shenanigan, Merlin stumbles into his own book. Suddenly he's Inspector Pendragon's main suspect.</p>
<p>I'm thinking both Arthur and Merlin are in their early/mid thirties."</p>
<p>VARIATION/Expansion:</p>
<p>Specifically, Merlin ends up in the (unfinished?) draft of the book in which he was finally going to kill off Inspector Pendragon...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Killing of Inspector Pendragon

**Author's Note:**

> The other side of my coin, the one, the only, LucifersHitman, beta-ed all this for me. And she deserves all the credit here, because I'm pretty sure it would make zero sense with out her editing. Hope you enjoy!

“No,” Gwen says flatly. While continuing to glare into his soul she adds, “No. No. Bloody hell no. I’ll kill you before the book is even through editing if you end it like that.”

Merlin slowly removes his hands from the keyboard and places them in his lap, gaping over at Gwen. Sweet, nice, lovely Gwen who always understands Merlin’s problems and says things that make him feel important, instead of threatening his life like Merlin’s not-so-nice friend, Freya.

However, he should have been more prepared. Why wouldn’t Gwen, Merlin’s own best friend, choose bloody Pendragon over him?

Everybody else does. 

And he’s a bloody character.

In a bloody book.

Okay, a series . . . but still.

Definitely fictional.

And definitely going to die.

Merlin doesn’t care if he never makes another penny off writing again.

The prat is finally going down.

\--

This has to be a dream.

Merlin pinches himself . . . ten times.

No dice.

Well, shit.

As if on cue a harsh pain floods through his skull.

_Ouch._

Definitely not a dream then.

\--

Merlin wakes up cuffed to a chair in a dark room, only one bright white light aimed towards him. He hears the clanking of dress shoes and looks up to find an unforgettable silhouette striding towards him.

Long black coat and a matching black hat, little red feather and all.

God, Pendragon was never meant to look so . . . posh.

But of course the bastard can even manage that without Merlin’s approval.

As Pendragon looks up and their eyes meet, Merlin suddenly realizes how bloody mind-fucked all of this is.

Fictional character.

_Fictional._

Not real. Not bloody posh. Not bloody handsome.

And most of all, not bloody alive.

At least, he wasn’t alive when Merlin finished writing and went to bed last night.

Maybe he forgot to hit save?

Merlin snorts, despite his situation.

Yes. Because forgetting to hit save could possibly have anything to do with the fact he’s woken up in the fictional year of 1945, in the fictional town of Camelot, and is fictionally cuffed to a bloody chair.

No.

Merlin’s afraid forgetting to hit save has nothing to do with this, and is the least of his problems.

\--

“So . . .” Pendragon starts in the exact tone Merlin’s always pictured him using. As he rounds Merlin’s chair he adds, “Looks like I’ve finally found you.”

Wait—

Is this Merlin’s actual book?

Is Pendragon actually using the lines he wrote?

The bright light is suddenly pushed forward, temporarily blinding Merlin.

“After all these years,” Pendragon laughs out, “here you are . . . the Falcon.”

Well. It would seem so.

For the first time Merlin looks down at his own clothes.

Oh, God. Bloody fantastic. Of course here—wherever here is—he’d be the Falcon.

Complete with a coarse brown suit, silky red neck tie and all.

Merlin just blinks then stares back up at Pendragon, thinking how his initial mistake was made ten years ago when Merlin decided to make himself the villain of his first book instead of the hero, and has nothing to do with an unsaved draft.

But surely that annoying mistake that led to months of writers block and a fearsome loathing of his main character couldn’t—shouldn’t—lead to this?

It’s impossible. But then again, Merlin still doesn’t even know what ‘this’ is.

“Um . . . well, no?” Merlin tries.

“No?” Pendragon laughs devilishly, “No? So you deny being the Falcon . . . how very _pathetic_ of you.”

Gritting his teeth, Merlin reminds himself that Pendragon’s behavior is technically all his fault, and doesn’t take the bait.

“No . . . I don’t even know who you are. Nice to meet ya, I’m Merlin.”

_“Mer_ . . . lin.”

“Yes.”

“No . . .” Pendragon drawls out slowly, “I don’t think so.”

Merlin’s not quite sure what happens to fictional characters when you mess up their dialogue, but if Pendragon’s face is anything to go by then it’s not a good thing.

“Look—” Merlin starts before he’s cut off by the door being kicked open.

Great. Falcon’s posse seems to have arrived right on schedule. Merlin doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

Pendragon startles around, pulling out his gun, he puts the first guy down quickly. Then he dives away from a fired bullet and ducks beneath the desk. Merlin watches in awe as Pendragon pops up and fires two bullets, taking the last two men out.

Jesus. Merlin really needs to write more realistically. He doesn’t even understand why people keep reading his books.

Of course all his readers would be offended if Pendragon wasn’t a perfect shot and probably would stop reading them then.

After all, he is bloody _Pendragon._

\--

“Take it easy, ya wanker,” Merlin scolds as Pendragon shoves him into the back seat of his car. “That hurt.”

Pendragon snorts out a laugh as he slides into the driver’s seat, “Yes, and why exactly would I take it easy on you?”

“Um . . .” Merlin tries, really tries to think of an excuse, however the Falcon really doesn’t deserve any special treatment. Especially from Pendragon.

They are arch-enemies after all.

“So you can go rob a bank? Or kidnap the governor’s wife again? Or—“

“No,” Merlin spits, cutting him off. Whispering to himself he adds, “but I might let you live.”

\--

Gwen.

Oh shit.

Pendragon, of course, drives them to Guinevere’s place.

Merlin doesn’t understand why he keeps getting surprised. He’s the one who bloody wrote all of this!

Merlin inwardly braces himself for the action he knows is about to go down.

It’s one thing writing about your prat of a main character getting his heart shattered into a million pieces, but it’s a completely different thing to watch it happen.

And suddenly, as Pendragon pulls up to the house, Merlin finds himself saying, “Let’s, um, let’s not stop here.”

Pendragon shoots him an eyebrow through the rear-view mirror and questions, “what’s this? Is the infamous Falcon actually scared?”

Merlin glares.

But gulps at the same time.

\--

Exactly what Merlin wrote, happens.

_Pendragon walks the suspect up to his lover’s house, hoping to hide out from what’s left of the Falcon’s posse._

_Only as he opens the door, Pendragon gets a surprise._

Gwen is there, looking lovelier than Merlin ever could’ve imagined, wearing a sleek black dress, matching her black hat and gloves.

After taking a long drag of her cigarette, Gwen places her thin holder across the ashtray and smirks over at them.

Merlin almost bursts into laughter.

Screw all the real Gwen’s protests to hell.

She makes one bad-ass villain.

\--

_Pendragon’s heart sinks, momentarily forgetting about the Falcon in the room because he’s never seen his dear Guinevere having a smoke. He frowns at her choice of clothing as well, thinking how she looks much better in her normal pink._

Merlin’s too distracted imprinting Gwen’s evil smirk that he doesn’t realize Lance has made his appearance. 

_A dark haired man stalks around the corner and comes into view. Pendragon watches the man readjust his tie and run a hand through his greased back hair with caution._

Merlin’s pried from his thoughts as Lance wraps an arm around Gwen.

He has all of two seconds to think how Lance, for such a nice looking guy, makes an incredible villain too, before Pendragon is launching forward.

_Rage burns, quickly. Pendragon springs forward, pulling the intruder away from his love. They brawl, ending up on the floor, rolling around for dominance until the sound of a cocking gun catches both their attention._

_“Now, now boys,” Gwen laughs out, aiming the gun towards Pendragon, “it’s a little too late for a fight, don’t you think?”_

“G—Guinevere,” Pendragon stutters and Merlin’s surprised to find his own heart clinching a bit. Standing and righting himself, Pendragon continues, taking a step closer to Gwen, “what are you doing, my love?”

She laughs.

Of course she laughs, _tight and bitterly,_ if Merlin remembers correctly.

Holding the gun higher, she explains, “I am not your love, Pendragon. I never was. I could never love someone like you . . . my heart was taken long ago.”

Lance joins her side, planting a kiss on her cheek. Merlin keeps his eyes on Pendragon, watching the pain he caused the other man--character--whatever.

Merlin takes one look at those sad, broken, and still very perfect blue eyes and . . . 

Shit just got real.

Okay, well technically it got real when he woke up in his own book . . . but metaphorically speaking, shit _just_ got real.

\--

_Pendragon’s piecing it all together as Guinevere continues to laugh, aiming the gun straight for him._

_She was never his, this whole time she’s been working for the Falcon._

_He knows he’s done for the second Guinevere tells him to get on his knees and hand the key over, but he really has no other choice. Pendragon throws the key out and drops down, watching as Guinevere’s secret lover unlocks the Falcon’s handcuffs._

_The evil man he’s worked so hard to find is now free, forever. Pendragon knows once he’s gone nobody else will dare challenge the Falcon and Camelot will fall to crime._

_He’s able to watch as the Falcon stalks over and takes the gun from Guinevere, ready to finish Pendragon off himself. However, as the other man stands before him, long and lanky with wide blue eyes, Pendragon lets his eyes find the floor. Content in this moment, that this is the man who’s going to be his demise._

_“Look at me,” the Falcon commands._

_Pendragon obeys and looks up to find the smug face—_

Except . . . 

Merlin’s smiling, he hopes Pendragon’s smart enough, or even capable of catching on.

He takes one last breathe and turns on Lance and Gwen.

\--

Pendragon, the bloody idiot, _doesn’t_ get it.

Luckily, Gwen and Lance are just as confused to why their leader has suddenly pulled a gun on them and just gape for a minute, giving Merlin time to pull Pendragon by the sleeve and start towards the front door.

Pendragon follows absently, same stupid look on his face the whole time.

Merlin almost thinks he’s just getting lucky then he remembers that this is a _book_ therefore the characters literally don’t know what do considering he just shot the whole plot line to hell.

\--

It’s not until they’re safe in the car, Pendragon riding in the passenger and Merlin driving, does Pendragon seem to snap out of his haze. 

“You just . . . saved me?”

“Yeah, well I decided killing the one and only Pendragon while he looked like a kicked puppy wasn’t as epic as it seemed at first . . . or as satisfying.”

“What happens now?”

“I really don’t know.”

\--

Merlin wakes to the unforgettable sound of Gwen squeaking.

His first instinct is to reach for the gun he stowed away in his suit, only instead of finding coarse fabric, his hand finds the smooth texture of over worn jeans.

At the same time he looks up to find Gwen, very normal, very not evil, and very, very flailing about something. 

He groans. 

So it was a dream then. Just more proof that he needs to stop writing before bed.

“Merlin!” Gwen shouts as she notices him stirring. As she starts towards him she’s apologizing about something, “Look, I’m sorry okay? But I just couldn’t help myself. Especially after you told me you were killing Pendragon yesterday . . . I know how much you hate when people read your stuff before it’s done but I . . . I’m really sorr—“

“What are you going on about?” Merlin groans again, the kink in his neck from falling asleep bent over his desk quickly catching up with him.

“Well, I may have let myself in to cook you breakfast . . . like usual . . . and I may have saw that draft you printed last night still sitting on the printer. It was practically begging me to read it so I may have . . . readyourdraft? And oh my god, Merlin! It was just amazing . . . I never knew you could be so risqué—“

“Draft?” Merlin questions, because the only draft he remembers writing is the one Gwen threatened him over that he may or may not have saved.

That whole part’s still kind of hazy. 

Matter of fact everything is kind of hazy and come to think of it, he doesn’t even remember falling asleep last night.

“Yeah,” Gwen smiles and hands him a thick stack of papers.

The first page is only a title, it reads:

_Inspector Pendragon: The End_

\--

Merlin reads as Gwen starts on cooking them breakfast.

Everything is as he remembers writing it, that is, until he gets to the part where Pendragon catches the Falcon on the street and knocks him out.

Merlin gapes.

It’s . . . 

Oh God, no.

_No._

\--

_Pendragon’s piecing it all together as Guinevere continues to laugh, aiming the gun straight for him._

_She was never his, this whole time she’s been working for the Falcon._

_He knows he’s done for the second Guinevere tells him to get on his knees and hand the key over, but he really has no other choice. Pendragon throws the key out and drops down, watching as Guinevere’s secret lover unlocks the Falcon’s handcuffs._

_The evil man he’s worked so hard to find is now free, forever. Pendragon knows once he’s gone nobody else will dare challenge the Falcon and Camelot will fall to crime._

_He’s able to watch as the Falcon stalks over and takes the gun from Guinevere, ready to finish Pendragon off himself. However, as the other man stands before him, long and lanky with wide blue eyes, Pendragon lets his eyes find the floor. Content in this moment, that this is the man who’s going to be his demise._

_“Look at me,” the Falcon commands._

_Pendragon obeys and looks up to find the Falcon smiling down at him. Beyond surprised, Pendragon barely has time to register what’s going on before the Falcon’s turning on his own members. By the time Pendragon stands again, the Falcon has shot Guinevere’s dark haired companion in the leg. As the Falcon points the gun towards her, Pendragon yells, “stop!”_

_Despite her betrayal, he could never see her harmed._

_The Falcon eyes her, growling out, “hands up then . . . where I can see them.”_

_Pendragon has the distinct feeling the Falcon is scared of his accomplices, even though he has the upper hand now. It gives Pendragon chills to think that Guinevere, the sweet lovely girl he’d met at the flower shop so long ago and had fallen for, could possibly scare the Falcon even as he has a gun pointed at her._

_“Well . . .” the Falcon starts while eying Pendragon coldly, “are you just going to sit there? Get out of here.”_

_Pendragon doesn’t want to leave, he can’t just leave the Falcon here. Not after he just saved his life. He does get up, however, and then tugs the other man by the arm as he races out the door._

\--

_“You just . . . saved me?” Pendragon asks once they’re in the car, driving away from the scene._

_“Yeah, well I decided killing the one and only Pendragon while he looked like a kicked puppy wasn’t as pleasing as it seemed at first . . . or as satisfying,” the Falcon explains._

_“What happens now?” Pendragon asks, knowing both of them can never go back to that town. The Falcon is sure to be labeled as a traitor since he let his companions live to tell the tale, and Pendragon will still have the Falcon’s ex-henchmen hunting him._

_“I really don’t know.”_

_The Falcon looks over at him, unreadable expression, and Pendragon notices for the first time that the other man has warm blue eyes. The kind of eyes that if yours met with his on the street, you’d think he was a gentle soul and want nothing more than to talk to him._

_Under their gaze, Pendragon’s forced to look out the window._

_They’re kind of beautiful._

_Even if they’re worn by a man like the Falcon._

\--

_He drives them to the sea, the rocky part that’s always empty even in the eyes of August. For a second Pendragon’s worried that things have changed that he’s going to die here, especially when the Falcon holds up the gun and tells him to hand his over._

_However, the Falcon merely takes both the guns and tosses them off the rocky cliff, letting them become lost to the sea._

_Feeling confident, Pendragon slides out of the car and ventures over to the other man. They stand silently for what seems like hours, hands in their pockets, looking over the waves as they crash into the rocks below._

_Finally, the Falcon breaks the silence, “I’m sorry about Guinevere.”_

_Pendragon wants to curse, wants to yell, wants to blame, but instead he finds himself saying, “She would have watched you kill me.”_

_“Yet you spared her life?” He questions with a raised brow._

_Pendragon can only nod in response, not wanting to talk about her anymore, hoping the Falcon will understand._

_When silence takes over again, Pendragon finds himself breaking it this time, “why?”_

_“My grandfather once told me a half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole,” the Falcon explains, “as I stood over you that was all I thought of, that I would be nothing without you. Nobody would ever challenge me like you. But . . .”_

_“But what?”_

_“But . . . I wasn’t thinking about the consequences of saving you at the time. I was just thinking that my life wouldn’t be complete without you hunting me down like you have all these years. Thinking that ending you would in turn be the end of me . . . I would have no motivation anymore. However, now I can see I’ve ruined everything for both of us.”_

_“You haven’t ruined anything . . . I don’t think,” Pendragon points out, turning to look at the Falcon he adds, “sure, we can’t go back to our old lives, but maybe now we can . . .”_

_Pendragon trails off, realizing what he’s about to suggest, but the Falcon looks over at him with pleading eyes, begging Pendragon to make everything stable again._

_Stuttering a little, Pendragon’s cheeks heat as he dares to explain, “We can’t go back, we must move forward.” Stepping closer and wrapping the Falcon’s thin fingers in his own, Pendragon continues, “My life only consisted of you, ever. Stopping you, hunting you down, arresting you, and making you confess. Even the one thing I thought I had outside of all this, the thing with Guinevere, turned out to lead straight back to you . . . I, too, feel like my life would be nothing without you . . .”_

_Pendragon trails off again as their eyes meet._

_Using all his courage, Pendragon continues, “Your eyes . . . I never saw them, all the times, you . . . you were too fast. The most I’d catch of you was the red of your tie or your strangely large ears, but now I don’t think I can ever stop look—“_

_He’s cut off by lips pressing to his, Pendragon hurriedly returns the kiss, hands now finding the Falcon’s neck at the same time he feels long limbs pull him closer, melting against the other’s thin frame._

_They kiss until they’re breathless and only pull away to rest their foreheads together, greedily sucking in each other’s shared breaths._

_The Falcon smiles, blindingly, and Pendragon finds himself smiling back._

_“I’ve always wanted to travel . . . would you come with me?” The Falcon asks, breath still rapid and ghosting against Pendragon’s face._

_“I’ll go anywhere with you . . . but we don’t have the money for gas, let alone travel.” Pendragon points out._

_The Falcon leans back, studying Pendragon for a second and then starts to laugh._

_“We have enough to travel around the world fifty times . . . as long as you don’t have a problem using stolen money.”_

_The End._

\--

The Oreo waffles sit untouched on the desk, still showing off Gwen’s impressive talent when it comes to sculpting whipped cream, but Merlin’s not hungry. Not one bit. Besides his jaw’s been permanently _nailed_ to the floor since he finished reading . . . fifteen minutes ago. So even if he wanted to eat, he couldn’t. 

He finally manages to sag back into his chair and looks to the couch where Gwen passed out thirty minutes ago after embarking on her own stack of waffles. 

Merlin swivels his chair around to face her then stands and flails his arms, gaping at the sleeping Gwen for answers. 

It’s impossible.

Because well . . . 

MERLIN DIDN’T BLOODY WRITE IT, y’know, for starters.

And to top it off it’s kind of what actually happen in his dream/weird-assed hallucination. 

Only, whereas in this written version Pendragon said everything he wanted to hear and Merlin actually spoke on how he felt, when what really (not-so-sure- _really_ ) happened was actually quite messier.

Pendragon barely could form thoughts, so Merlin had drove to the sea, contemplating jumping in. It was surely better than being stuck there. 

Pendragon finally left the car and tugged him by the sleeve, silently pulling him further away from the opportunity. 

Then Merlin, upon deciding this was so fucked up and no way could be real, decided to jump Pendragon instead. Laying out all 165 pounds of that pliant, fit, luscious, beautiful—so bloody beautiful—body of his main character underneath his own. 

And _God._

They kissed and sucked and licked. And Merlin started pushing his hips down, startling Pendragon, causing the hat to fall from his head and Merlin ducked down toward the exposed blond hair, taking in the scent. 

Merlin fumbled, but eventually got both their cocks out. Licking his hand and stroking them together. Pendragon made the fucking dirtiest noises, just grunting and moaning deep in his throat, like he’d been waiting on Merlin’s dick for years. And Merlin was losing it, as was Pendragon whose head was permanently thrown back. Merlin rested just above the others plush lips, too gone to lean down and meet them.

Instead he watched as Pendragon began to sweat, eyes following the first bead as it fell down his forehead. 

Just as Merlin felt a sudden tug in his belly, Pendragon panted hard and bit down on his lip, moaning loud and long, sending thick spurts of cum on Merlin’s hand and across his own clothing. 

The first stroke of his hand, now covered in Pendragon’s cum, had Merlin pulsing hard, sending his own cum all over the other man.

He even managed to get a bit on the edge of Pendragon’s lip, Merlin remembers smiling and leaning down to lick it clean.

That’s when he woke up at his desk, still very dry and very confused.

\--

Merlin decides to publish it.

Not because it’s better than his own writing or anything, but because every time Merlin’s sat down and tried to rewrite it he starts thinking about Pendragon.

He thinks about how he’s a bloody _prat_ , yes.

But also how . . . 

How Pendragon’s hair smelled.

And how his fresh kissed lips looked.

And how he moaned in a deep growl that Merlin wouldn’t mind hearing every night before bed.

Only it was a bloody _dream_ or a bloody hallucination or something! It wasn’t real!

Only, it did feel very real and the memories are most definitely real. And most definitely not fading in the slightest like a dream would. 

Merlin honestly doesn’t want them too.

The strangest part, Merlin realized sometime last week, is that all the things he remembers—like the smell of his hair and distinct scar above Pendragon’s brow—are things he’s never wrote about. Let alone thought about.

Yet they are there, tainting Merlin's mind at every chance they get.

So Merlin publishes the book.

If only to avoid shameful hard-ons and emptiness.

\--

_The time is here, young warlock._

Merlin wakes with a start. 

If falling into his own book wasn’t problem enough, now Merlin’s hearing the voice of a radio show host in his head.

He should really go see a doctor or something.

\--

The party is great!

If you’re not partially and/or fully insane and wallowing in self-pity over a fictional character.

Merlin feels for Pendragon’s fan girls now.

This is supposed to be his night, Gwen has been going on and on and on about it for weeks, since his book made the bestseller list.

So here Merlin is, at some giant hotel party room, on his third cocktail, and ready to scream at the next person who asks him about bloody Pendragon.

At least this is going better than the book signing. 

“Merlin!” Gwen’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, “there’s someone I want you to meet . . . he’s a huge fan.”

Merlin promptly drops his liquor, glass and whiskey splattering across the floor around him. Then he high tails it to the bathroom and locks himself in a stall.

He’s already on his smartphone searching for a doctor in the area when a familiar female voice rings from the doorway, “Merlin! Are you in here?”

He briefly considers staying quiet, but Gwen will murder him herself if Merlin makes her walk into the boys bathroom while Lance is in the vicinity. 

Oh bugger. 

_Pendragon._

\--

It really is bloody Pendragon.

He’s here. At Merlin’s party. Acting like he knows Gwen. 

Acting like he’s a real human being.

Laughing and breathing and shaking Merlin’s hand and blushing and looking extremely fucking gorgeous. 

“Hi, I’m Arthur Pergano. Morgana’s my sister . . . and when she told me Gwen knew you I just had to ask her to get me into this party . . . I love your books.”

Merlin’s heart nearly slams to the floor.

_Arthur._

He’s never once told a soul what Pendragon’s first name is, it was part of the mystery.

“Oh yeah?” Merlin finds himself absently asking and nodding.

Pendrago—Arthur quirks a brow and nods in response.

“Um.” Merlin says.

“Um?” 

“Yes. Um. Have we meet before?”

“I don’t think so . . ?” Arthur replies.

Merlin spots a nearby waiter and hastily grabs for the glass of whiskey on his tray, downing the whole thing in one long gulp.

He looks back up to find Arthur with an amused smirk and Gwen with a disapproving frown. 

“Sorry. Good whiskey, yeah?” 

Arthur seems to take ‘good whiskey, yeah’ as ‘come over here and save me from this party, big boy.’ And it’s so much like Pendragon that Merlin almost refuses. 

However, then he looks at Arthur’s smirk, remembering how fantastic those lips really are, and lets himself be manhandled around tables and into a back room.

\--

“Watch it, you arse!” Merlin commands after Arthur manages to run him into three tables, two chairs, and a wall. “This isn’t very rescue-y for someone who seems to think I needed it!”

Merlin’s high pitch does nothing to prove his point, but Arthur laughs, and--like magic--Merlin suddenly doesn’t care that he’s going to be covered in bruises tomorrow. 

\--

They finally make it to the back room, and Merlin sighs and sits on the floor as that last shot of whiskey hits him. 

Arthur sits next to him, smiling blindingly, and Merlin briefly considers if the shine off Arthur’s teeth is actually causing his eyes harmful damage.

_But that’s crazy, right?_ Merlin thinks, _not as crazy as sitting next to the main character of my book, who really isn’t the main character of my book, but looks and acts just like the main character of my book, I suppose._

He’s undoubtedly drunk now, but for some reason more whiskey still sounds like a great idea. Instead of implementing a plan of action, Merlin sighs back into the wall, and closes his eyes.

“So . . . um . . . would now be a bad time to ask you on a date?” Arthur asks, cautiously. 

Merlin opens his eyes, and slowly looks to the other man, thinking how this could be amazing, or very, very bad.

Instead of answering with one of the many logical answers he should—like: _Yes, here’s my number,_ or _No, because you’re probably a figment of my imagination_ —Merlin replies, “Um. Can we just have sex . . . like get out of here right now?” 

Arthur’s smile fades, briefly leading away to an unreadable expression, but then he quickly smirks and leans in.

Then he’s kissing Merlin.

_Again,_ finally.

\--

Just like the first time, things escalate quickly. So, within a few minutes, Merlin finds himself panting against Arthur’s mouth, and still coming back for more.

Arthur is greedy though, which is different than Pendragon.

And by _different,_ Merlin means 2000 times better.

He tugs Merlin into his lap and Merlin groans as Arthur’s hardness presses against his leg.

Merlin suddenly has the urge to tear their clothes off, and hesitantly breaks away, to explain, “if we don’t get out of here right now, I’m gonna shag you right here on the floor.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and pushes his hips off the ground, digging the hard line of his cock further into Merlin’s thigh.

They both groan, and Arthur bites out, “my hotel. Own it. Going to shag you right here, idiot.”

Then Arthur’s in his space again, and Merlin’s lips and cheeks and neck is tingly with the feel of the others skin. He almost doesn’t register what’s just been said due said feelings, but he eventually does and abruptly pulls away, asking, “You own it? What the hell? I thought you said you came with Morgana?”

“I did,” Arthur says, “but I didn’t _have_ to, I just didn’t want to seem like . . . an arse or something.”

“Too bad that you already are an arse, then.”

“Why we’re on the topic, I might as well tell you . . . I’ve not read a page of your bloody books, but I saw your picture and I don’t understand. You’ve got ears out to bloody here, but for some reason I had to--”

Merlin cuts off the blond’s rambling with a kiss, smiling in to it, thinking he knows exactly how Arthur feels.

"And you're lying prat with crooked teeth, but--"


End file.
